


Death and Pizza

by TheDarkRat



Series: War!Darcy [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Blink and you miss them, Death, F/M, Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse - Freeform, Kinda based on Good Omen's take on the four horsemen, References to my favorites, Snickerdoodle Cookies, War!Darcy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2018-11-19 10:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11311590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkRat/pseuds/TheDarkRat
Summary: Death, for one cannot classify death as a simple pronoun, was there in the Alps. Watching. Death is not all knowing, contrary to popular belief. Death doesn’t need to be - for all things eventually die.





	1. Chapter 1 - The Offering

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any Marvel or Dark Horse characters. Unbetaed.

Death, for one cannot classify death as a simple pronoun, was there in the Alps. Watching. Death is not all knowing, contrary to popular belief. Death doesn’t need to be - for all things eventually die. 

+++++

Steve was cold. There was snow and ice and a fast moving train. There was Bucky - falling, falling, falling. With a gasp he sat bolt upright, screams dying in his chest, breathing rapidly and watching a blizzard of snow in his bedroom. 

War that was Darcy, rolled over and watched. She touched his skin, flushed and sweat slick, and was able to ease his troubled mind. It was within her skills to remove terror, fear, trauma, but not guilt. Guilt belonged to another. She stroked his arm until he laid back down.

“Would you know,” Steve began hesitantly as if dreading and yearning for the answer, “would you know if Bucky’s dead?” He’d be questioning this supposed fact ever since Darcy, who was not altogether human, explained to him what she was. If he, Steve, had not died in the ice and snow and crash for 70 years - could Bucky have survived a fall off a mountain? 

“Death is not my domain, my love.” Her voice was soft. “I would not know.” She moved to lean over his face, to look at his eyes, the same blue that the Picts would paint themselves while chanting to her. “However,” and she watched his eyes spark with interest, “I know how to ask.” 

+++++

Several days later Steve was arranging snack bowls filled with munchies on the coffee table in the Avenger’s common area. Darcy was baking snickerdoodle cookies again, while Natasha ordered the perfect New York style pizza. 

Natasha had known Darcy was not as she appeared the first time they trained together. The Darcy before War would not know how to fight like a Russian street kid, or wield a katana with mastery, or leap from apparatus to apparatus like an assassin - but War? War was all these things and more. War was the gun, the sword, the shield, the cannon. In the multitude of ways that Natasha had been trained to kill, War knew more. War had the depth and breadth of human history to study from and had learned each and every lesson. 

War brought her into the fold because it was easier than hiding. War didn’t want to hide. Not now. 

“Darcy?” Steve called from the sofa, “Are you sure we need nine bowls of snacks? I don’t even know what half of these things are!” 

“Yes!” She brought out a plate of hot snickerdoodles. The smell made Steve’s mouth water. “Death likes food.” Natasha set down the pizza and turned to the smaller woman, an eyebrow raised in question. “Especially pizza.” 

Steve and Natasha then shared a look over War’s head. Who knew? 

+++++

Darcy that was War stood on the balcony. She had a knife. A knife that was almost older than she was. She cut the palm of her hand and squeezed out thick, red blood. “Death.” She called, her voice quiet, but firm. She let the blood fall from her hand onto the ground in front of her. “Death.” Sound ceased to be. One moment there was the ambient noise of the city, the hum of electronics, the sound of breathing, the pit-pat of War’s blood splashing. The next, there was nothing, as if the sound was being sucked away. 

War knelt on the ground, prostrating herself on the balcony floor. “Death.” She said again. This time it had an air of finality to it, the end of the chant. And before Darcy stood…her creator. 

+++++

Steve saw a man. Black hair, sharp black suit, and a long black coat. He had sharp, angular features on his face. Steve watched as the man looked around the balcony and into the common room. On his left hand, he wore a large signet ring on his hand and held a stylish cane. He was tall, thin, but he had an aura of power that reminded him of Agent Coulson. 

Natasha saw a woman with wild, untamed black hair. She had skin that was at once black as night but also pale as bone. Natasha couldn’t decide which. Around the woman’s neck was an Egyptian ankh and she had an odd curly-cue tattoo under her left eye. Her jeans were worn and torn at the knees. She wore a tank top that left her arms and shoulders bare. Natasha’s mind flashed to girls in pink tutus splattered in blood. 

Darcy saw neither of these things. For Darcy was War and War had no preconceived notions about her creator. War saw Death, as Death was and will always be. Human eyes cannot understand, but they never need to. Humans see what they believe they will see. 

“Rise, War.”


	2. Come and See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead!
> 
> It's shorter than you guys probably wanted, but, the muse is a fickle beast.

“Rise War.”  

 

Steve shivered. The voice of the man was deep and rich, but inexplicably cold. It reminded him too much of the ice.

War that was Darcy rose, her hand no longer bleeding. “I present you offerings, Creator.” Death nodded and sat down at the table. Food was put neatly on plates and arranged themselves around the entity.

Natasha was perched on the arm of the sofa nearby. She watched the woman move with a ballerina’s grace. A classical melody and stuttering gunfire floated through Natasha’s head. She stayed silent, simply watching.

However, Steve was impatient. “Excuse me, Mr. Death?” Unseen, Natasha raised an eyebrow.

The sharp, older man looked up, world-weary and perhaps mildly amused. “Few retain their manners in my presence.” He put the fork and knife down quietly. “You have a question.” This was a statement, Steve noticed. “If the answer I have to give does not satisfy, what then?”

Darcy stood vigil behind her creator. This was not her conversation.

“I suppose any answer will be better than nothing,” Steve answered. Inside his mind, he wondered if that was true. Would _any_ answer be better than wondering? What if…. 

“You always were a brave one.” Death seemed to sigh. “James Barnes has not been touched by my hand.” The words were nonchalantly given. Death went back to the slice of pizza.

“But he was touched by A hand,” Natasha inferred. “If not yours, who’s?”

The woman with the wild hair smiled brightly, a teacher watching a student solve a puzzle. “Another of my creations.” She gestured towards the quiet and attentive Darcy.

Steve gave a gasp. “No.” The other occupants of the room turned to him. The man played with his signet ring idly. “The other two…” Steve said slowly, as if sounding out a new word, “...which one?”

War watched the by play. This was entertaining. Mortals were so much fun. Natasha shifted her weight on the chair, she had remembered that Steve had been brought up Catholic.

“Pestilence.” Natasha heard sadness, Steve heard resignation.

Steve sat down hard. His hands did not shake, but there was a stiffness to his shoulders. “Where is he? 

Death had finished the slice of pizza and was now nibbling on a snickerdoodle cookie. As Steve looked up, the older man gave a crooked grin. “What is done in the darkness, will be brought to the light.”

Natasha broke character and fell off the chair to the floor. The pale woman winked. A feeling like a sudden vacuum of air swept the room. The snacks and food disappeared. There were only three figures in the room again.

Steve’s blue eyes were as hard and cold as the ice in his former tomb. Darcy that was War could feel the barely contained rage, she soaked it up greedily. Natasha was pale, seeing ghosts behind her dark eyes.

 

A judgment day was coming. Come and see.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried really hard to have Natasha and Steve's respective death have equal screen time as well as react differently (like their source characters). Hopefully, that comes across. 
> 
> Drop me a comment. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> This one isn't as fluid as the first, but I wanted to try. Someone's comment on "In the Beginning" mentioned Bucky and at first, I didn't have an answer. But upon thinking about it, I think Steve would still be War's favorite. Steve volunteered for Project Rebirth, Bucky was drafted (that's my headcanon and I'm stickin' to it.)


End file.
